Morning Light
by Isolith
Summary: This was not how she had envisioned waking up. Raydor/Flynn. The morning after.


**Morning Light**

**Summary:** This was not how she had envisioned waking up. Raydor/Flynn.

**/**

Funny, but the first thought that flittered past the curtain of sleep was one of warmth and contentment. A little peculiar feeling that reverberated with the rest of her body, a warm hue in her mind and a comfortable drowsiness in her body.

The second thought, however, to pass through the barrier of wanting to merely close her eyes and fall asleep again was one that did not resonate with any calmness; it was an abrupt, vivid, brutal little thought.

She was not alone; she was not even in her own bed. There was someone slung around her body, a heavy warm arm across her middle, a long solid body behind her.

It was a small relief to comprehend that neither of them were completely naked; not that the knowledge that she still had her underwear on was much of a relief nor that the body behind her only wore two warm socks.

It was not really a reprieve to find that she was certain who belonged to that long body. It was a natural deduction seeing it was the same body she had gone to sleep with – it still came as a small surprise to her, the familiar low grumbling voice, lips into the skin behind her ear, echoing with sleepiness. Still he must be slightly awake to notice she was tense as a board.

"Whatever you're thinking, leave it be and go back to sleep"

Yes, the gruff voice of Andy Flynn.

"Kind of hard to merely push aside the fact that your morning erection is against my ass," she disagreed.

"Good morning to you too"

Yes, with every little breath she was acutely aware of that part of his anatomy – digging more into her as she felt him move, his arm tightening around her as he nuzzled closer.

Oh god, he was the cuddly type.

"I can feel your anxieties from here," he told her, yawned, then "You are tense like no one's business"

"You're too pleased about this whole … _thing!_"

"You would be too if someone was fidgeting against your dick"

Oh god.

"I don't remember inviting you to snuggle," she tried to push the conversation away from his dick; she had a feeling the more it was mentioned the more she was conscious of it – as if it became harder and more noticeable – ridiculous, really.

"You remember fucking?" his voice was hard and curt, and still he was curled around her like a damn blanket. He was warm and comfortable, she would give him that.

She rolled her eyes, then answered – her voice decidedly sarcastic, "I'm not about to forget – you made sure of that. What with being remarkably vocal throughout everything."

"You wanna talk about being expressive?"

"No," she mumbled, half annoyed and half embarrassed. The night was vivid in her memories, even more vivid in the content ache in her body.

"Then it's settled, go back to sleep," his voice tingled and she was sure it was intentional that he bumped more firmly into her, intentional that he managed to snuggle even more confidently into her.

She sighed; this was not only an inconvenient situation it was downright disagreeable with every goddamn little rule she had tried to enforce upon herself; she might as well have taken her Glock out and shot her conduct – it was most decidedly murdered in cold blood.

Well, it had been delicious – murder with intent, she amended with a snort of sarcasm.

A leg suddenly came over her thigh, his hand trailing up to caress a breast. Not even a little detour or any hesitation about his actions before he did it; he was impossible.

"I thought you wanted to sleep," she scoffed.

"I want to fuck," he grumbled and she could not stop herself from tingling, even if it was crass and rough, even if she felt more inclined to slap the back of his head and tell him to fuck off instead.

"Your panicky thoughts have the inherent ability to keep anyone from falling back to sleep," he told her, his hips determinedly against her ass, fingers suddenly sliding down over the arch of her waist and dragging down the precious little barrier of her underwear.

She groaned; a mixture of arousal and annoyance with herself. She could really only blame herself for this situation; well that and her lieutenant's tendency to charm her with just a small smile. That and his silver-hair, his warm brown eyes and the fact that he dressed deliciously. Maybe it was not as much her fault as it was his; yeah, she tried to correct in her mind – he was to blame for this transgression.

"I don't think fucking one more time will do any more damage, do you?" he whispered into her ear, his tongue sneaking out and licking the outer shell, "Why, it's practically an addition to last night, huh"

His tone became even lower, deep as he gave chuckle; "A little addendum, huh – a postscript fuck"

His ability to be crass in his language and then counteract it with the softness of his touch, the tingle of his voice; it was obviously disarming her. Normally she did not do this sort of thing. He was a chatty thing – she remembered that from the night, every little growl and profanity – every little fantasy he had whispered in her ear – every groan he had expelled with more force and more tone than she was used to.

She felt obliged to agree with him; it was however not what escaped her mouth, "You're determined to completely force ahead my dishonorable retirement, is that it?"

"Shit, you're grouchy! Not a morning person?"

Her underwear had gone – and yes, he had goddamn neglected to put any on himself. She could feel him clearly between her cheeks, hard and burning through her skin. His large fingers dancing closer and closer down across her abdomen, his body pressed heavily, hotly, into her back – lips humid with breath against her neck.

She inhaled deeply, her legs coming apart of their owl will – she was not about to say no to sex after all. It did not mean she could not grumble about it – she exhaled, oh god but he was comfortable.

"Shut up, and just fuck me," she had not meant it to sound so breathy; she had not meant to make it sound like a challenge.

His fingers averted from their downwards path, came up along the sides of her abdomen instead, tickling.

"Such foul language," he chuckled again, continuing to lightly tickle her with the pad of his fingers.

She wriggled, writhed – turned around to lie on her back; "Please don't," she ordered him; she was awfully ticklish – he would have her laughing in under a second if he continued.

It had not been his plan; the moment she landed on her back and he slid over her, heavy and eyes suddenly in view; she knew it was something else he had in mind.

Brown eyes full of mischief.

He leaned down and kissed her, lips soft and comfortable.

She hummed against his lips.

He let up for air, lips parted against hers – coming to lie more fully on her – keeping her surely locked under him, not that the feeling was completely disagreeable with her.

But the intense stare, the curving lips – the knowing little glint in his eyes and the damn mischief on his lips; he was bound to slip under her skin and immediately push aside all her apprehensions.

"You're worse than a hall monitor, you know"

"That turn you on?" she countered; she knew where he was going with this but still she felt she needed to put up some kind of resistance.

He rolled his eyes.

"You've gotta let it go. So, adults have sex – you enjoyed it, I enjoyed it," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes back at him, "I don't mind the sex – I do, however, mind that you're my subordinate – I mind the direct breach of the command chain!"

"Well, I must protest – I did most of the commanding last night," he grinned wider, "you are, if anything, most delightful with obeying orders."

She could not keep her lips from curling, she could not keep herself from replying, "You're an excellent leader, Lieutenant, yes," her tone caught between sarcasm and laughter.

He was lulling her into a false sense of security, of complacency, she realized, why he was firmly upon her now and she had somehow comforted herself with surrounding his middle with her legs; his goddamn cheeky smile allaying all her fears.

She bit her lower lip; she could feel him against her, his length against her folds, against her clit – rolling along as he tilted his hips.

"Sharon?" he enquired, another rogue grin.

"Yes," she breathed.

"However much you grumble, it's not going to change anything."

She huffed.

He continued, his voice warm and soft, eyes smiling, "You want this as much as I do?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Then let go; no one cares about us old people anyway. More importantly, no one is thinking about old people having sex – it's not going to be a problem at all, okay."

She laughed.

"You calling me old?"

He grinned in reply, slid into her and caught her little breathy moan with his mouth.

Of course he was right; it was a transgression but it was not a major problem. It would remain a minor one as long as they kept it a secret.

That, and well he was hopelessly in love – that was obvious. In his touch and in words spoken.

It was hard to rebuke such warm eyes and such a look of adoration; that her own eyes lingered on him was outside context (or at least she tried to tell herself she was not in too deep, she tried to tell herself she was not _that_ obvious).

No one gave old people a second thought; and no one would contemplate their sex lives. That was a good excuse, she found – why, they could keep doing this then.

She smiled into the kiss; she would maybe be more inclined to wake up like this in the future.

It was really only a little thing of habit; she had been alone for far too long – she was not used to sharing a bed – she was not used to the clingy feel of a warm body next to her, constantly in a little bubble of skin contact.

She was not used to that warm look so close; it had been less dangerous to contemplate his eyes from afar.

Close up his eyes were intense and she did not see any obstacles; hesitation was swept aside.

Close up; it was comfortable and content, glorious.

**/**


End file.
